


Carbon Skeletons

by A_Trophy_Sons_Laments



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Bad Parent Amanda (Detroit: Become Human), Child Abuse, Child Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Colostomy Bag, Connor is a Mess (Detroit: Become Human), Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, G-Tube, Gen, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Hank Anderson & Connor Parent-Child Relationship, Hospitals, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Human Trafficking, Hurt Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hurt/Comfort, It/Its Pronouns for Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Medical Abuse, Munchausen by proxy, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Seizures, Tonic-Clonic Seizures, Urostomy Bag, Whump, absence seizures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-19 03:02:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29744007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Trophy_Sons_Laments/pseuds/A_Trophy_Sons_Laments
Summary: Hank has been following a series of missing child cases for months, and, after a failed abduction, he finally has a lead. Unfortunately, the human trafficking ring was one step ahead of him. At least the children were able to be recovered, including one little boy named Connor. Connor has no records, no memories of his life before Amanda, and is under an extreme delusion: Connor believes he is an android.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 41
Kudos: 73





	1. The Boy in the Closet

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is my first fanfic! I have a vague idea of where this is going, and about half of the next chapter written. Let me know if I should continue! I'll update tags as I go. Thanks for reading. :)

Hank hates cases like these, the ones involving kids. Even after decades on the force, seeing the worst his city has to offer, his stomach still twists uncomfortably at the idea of a child in danger. Dozens of low-risk children have been spirited away by an unknown group of criminals, and Hank has been working around the clock for months to track them down. Three days ago, he had finally got a major break in the case.

A young, single mother had taken her daughter with her to the laundromat. The daughter had met a little brunet boy with brown eyes and a black beanie there. The two wandered off together to play while the mother stayed with the washing machine, watching from afar. When she took her eyes off of them to move the clothes to the drier, the pair had disappeared. The mother had ran outside and saw a black woman trying to get her daughter into a gray truck with tinted windows. She had screamed for someone to call the police and grabbed her daughter away from the woman, who jumped back in the truck and sped off. She had disappeared by the time the police arrived, but the mother had gotten the make, model, and license plate.

The plates were, unsurprisingly, stolen, but Hank managed to track the truck though traffic cameras to a three mile radius. He patrolled the neighborhoods in an unmarked car and found the truck parked outside of a moderately sized, brick house in the suburbs.

The next few weeks were the longest in Hank's life, as he gathered enough evidence to obtain a warrant. By the time he was able to search the house, someone had alerted the traffickers. They had jumped ship, and in a hurry, less than a day in advance. They left the children behind. Seven kids, 6-11 years old, kept in dog kennels. Barely half of the missing children cases considered likely to be connected to this and no leads. Hank knew it wasn't a waste, they had saved those seven children, but knowing those people where still out there left a sour taste in his mouth.

The seven children were carted off to the hospital as Hank and his team continued to canvas the house. The office was in ruins, and fresh ash was in the fire place. It didn't look like anything could be recovered, but the scraps of paper were sent to forensics, just in case. Most of the house was unremarkable, a simple two-story house with a basement full of evidence of life and not much else. Food was in the kitchen, toiletries in the bathroom, and a load of wet laundry in the mud room washing machine. Stray hairs were bagged, finger prints were dusted, photos were taken. Hank was the one who found the eighth child in the hallway closet.

A skinny, brunet boy with big, brown eyes trained on the ground stood in the small linen closet. Painted roses covered walls too close together to allow for the kid to lay down and empty shelves stat low enough to press on the boy's head when he stood. It wreaked of piss and blood, and stains covered the floor. Hank recovered from his surprise quickly and knelt down to the boy's height, trying to meet the kid's eyes. The boy just looked further down.

"Hey, kid, are you hurt?"

The boy said nothing.

"Do you know what is happening?"

Nothing.

"Can you tell me your name?"

"My name is Connor," his voice was sweet and slightly croaky, like he could use a glass of water.

"Hi, Connor, I'm Hank. Can you come with me?"

Connor hesitated for a moment and Hank could see little gears turning in his head, "Amanda has not said I can leave, yet."

Hank was proud of how quickly he thought up a response, especially while running on such little sleep and so much coffee, "Well, I'm a police lieutenant. My word overrides Amanda's. If I'm the one who says that it's okay for you to leave, then Amanda will have to be upset at me, not you."

Connor thought hard about that one, his nose scrunched up and his eyes darted back and forth as if he could physically see the pros and cons list he was no doubt drafting, before finally relenting. "Okay, Lieutenant," he agreed, squaring his little shoulders and marching out of that God-forsaken closet.

Hank handed the kid off to an EMT with a quick reassurance that Connor was allowed to go with them before turning around and heading right back into that house, in search of any other hidden children, of which he found none. It took another hour of cataloguing before the captain asked Hank to go take statements at the hospital. The last thing Hank wanted to do right now was to grill a bunch of traumatized kids, but compared to going to the station full of devastated parents whose kids had not been recovered, he supposed it was the lesser of two evils.

Most of the kids didn't have much to say, they had only been held for a few days and the stories were largely the same, except for child number eight, Connor. They had been walking home from school, or playing in the yard, or sitting in the car while their parent got groceries, and a young, brunet boy with brown eyes and a black beanie had approached them and lured them towards a gray van with promises of a cool game, or asking for directions, or needing help with finding his dog. Each attack seemed highly personalized, the traffickers knew the childrens' routines and personalities before hand, knew when and how to convince them to walk to areas with no surveillance or prying eyes. By the time each child realized something was very wrong, arms wrapped around them and pulled them into the van too quickly for them to even call for help. The abductions were efficient and very organized and implied there were at least four perps working together to canvas their targets and make a clean getaway.

Most of the children were unharmed, at least physically, walking away with minor bruising and dehydration. Only one boy faced permanent injury; he had fought back against one of the captors who slammed his face into the corner of a cage, according to the other children. When Hank had last seen him, four hours ago, puss and blood had been dripping down the side of his face. He hadn't been able to ask the kid any questions, he was recovering from an emergency surgery to remove the infected eye and hadn't waken yet. When Hank peeked into the hospital room where he was being kept, he looked so much cleaner and younger. His elderly foster dad had wheeled his chair up next to the boy and was holding his hand. Hand allowed himself a small smile, that kid wouldn't have lasted much longer without proper medical attention, they had managed to save his life.

Hank frowned again at the thought. They had found medical supplies in the house, why had they not been used on the kid? He would have to check over everything they had found, their uses, and where they had gotten them. In the mean time, Hank had one last interview to conduct.

Connor was sitting in his hospital bed with his legs stretched out straight in front of him, his hands in his lap, and his back ramrod straight. He didn't look like a little kid who had just been rescued from a human trafficking ring. None of the parents had claimed Connor, there were no missing child reports of a 'Connor' in the area, so Hank's number one priority right now was finding any information he could on the kid to trace him back to his family.

"Hey, Connor, how ya feelin'?" Hank asked as he pulled a folding chair up to Connor's bedside, the kid still not looking up at him.

"I do not feel," Connor answered, almost too quickly. That was okay, Hank supposed, the kid was under no obligation to tell Hank.

"Would it be alright if I asked you some questions?"

Connor's little eyebrows pinched together, "Of course, Lieutenant," he spoke slowly, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

"Do you know your last name, Connor?"

"I do not have a last name."

"Ok, did you have another name before they took you?"

"I do not understand the question," Connor's voice picked up a hard edge and he looked to the other side of the room.

Hank tried again, "Did you have a name before you were Connor?"

A hesitant look of understanding spread over Connor's face, "I am an RK800 model, my serial is #313 248 317."

Hank was in so over his head.


	2. The Android in the Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor, on its own for the first time, finds itself in a human hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of dialogue and not much Hank in this one, him and Connor will have some quality time together in the next chapter, tho. Dialogue isn't really my strongest area, but this was really fun to write once I got going! Enjoy! :)

Connor had never been outside on his own before. Even on missions, Amanda would be waiting for it in the truck and talking to it through their wireless connection. Amanda told it many times that it was not allowed to go anywhere without her. It was only a prototype, it needed to be monitored. Yet, when the lieutenant came to The Garden and told it to go with him, Connor went. It knew it shouldn't. It knew it would be in trouble if Amanda found out, but surely a lieutenant knew how to monitor a prototype? Amanda had once told Connor not to trust the police, but Connor had read about the institutional reform that occurred in the 20's, so it thought, perhaps, Amanda meant that the old police weren't trustworthy. Amanda was old enough to have been alive back then, after all. Nowadays, police were meant to protect and serve. They weren't even allowed to carry guns anymore. True, a taser would cause more damage to an android than a gun, and an android did not have the same protections as humans, but Connor needed to leave The Garden. It required its daily maintenance. Surely, a police lieutenant would be able to help, or at least, know to pass it off to a mechanic who would be able to help. It could feel its output building up, feel its reaction time slow from lack of charge, feel its hands begin to shake due to lack of input. And, it knew it shouldn't, but it _wanted_ to leave The Garden. In that moment, the pros of leaving outweighed the cons of potential punishment, and so it left with the lieutenant.

The lieutenant handed Connor off to some mechanics, then went on his way. Connor knew it needed supervision, that the lieutenant shouldn't leave. Maybe this was a test. It asked the mechanic when he would return, anyway. She told it that he would see it after it settled in at the haspittle. Connor had never been to a haspittle, but the way the mechanic said the word made it think it should know what a haspittle was, so it didn't ask for further clarification. It wasn't until it being wheeled down a white hallway painted with larger-than-life flowers and past an elevator with a sign listing floors such as radiology and internal medicine that it realized. _Oh. Hospital._

Connor had never been to a hospital before, had only read about them in passing in its books, and it didn't understand why it was in one now. Androids don't need medical care. It didn't say anything, though, and sat tight while humans examined it. They were kind, always asking it for permission before touching it. It was strange. It was an android, it couldn't say no if it wanted to.

The doctor smiled when he walked in. "Hey, Connor, I'm Dr. Gill. I'm going to be taking a look at you today, is that alright?"

The doctor's name tag read 'Dr. Tyrian Gilliam, Emergency Physician.' Connor didn't think a physician had any reason to be looking at an android, but it knew better than to disobey or talk back, so it nodded. "Yessir."

"Okay. So, how are we doing today?"

Connor had never been asked that before. "My output needs to be emptied."

"Can you show me what you mean?"

Connor didn't answer, instead opting to begin unbuttoning its white dress shirt immediately. What an odd way to phrase a command. Usually, Connor wouldn't open its front panel in front of a human, Amanda told it that it was unseemly, and the waste valves peaked out from under the panel, anyway, but the bags were starting to press on its abdomen, and Connor was afraid they would back up if it didn't.

"Oh, those bags look pretty full there, Connor. How's about we get those replaced, huh? Then I can get a look at those stomas."

Connor had never heard the word 'stoma' before, but the doctor must be talking about its drainage ducts, as they were the only things beneath its collection bags. Perhaps 'stoma' was less of a mouthful? Unless he was referring to another part of its body all together. Connor nodded and pretended it understood.

The doctor asked a nurse to fetch an 'ostomy' kit, "While we wait for him to get back, let's take a look at your forehead. Is it alright if I move some of your hair out of the way?"

"Of course." The doctor was gentle when he brushed Connor's hair aside to get a look at its LED. Of course he would want to be able to see its LED, he could better monitor its condition that way. Connor's hair had gotten too long, a downside of the synthetic skin androids had. It looked very realistic, but it also acted realistic and grew. Amanda usually wouldn't tolerate its hair getting so long, but she had been very busy lately, and its fringe grew down to the tips of its ears.

"This doesn't look very comfortable," Dr. Gill probed the skin surrounding the LED, "We'll see about getting this taken out, does that sound good?"

Connor opened its mouth, then immediately shut it again. It had been about to ask why, but it knew better than to question humans. Sloppy. It took a different approach. "It is not uncomfortable."

"That's good," Dr. Gill smiled as he let Connor's hair fall back down, "You're tougher than I would be."

That confused Connor, tough about what? Was something wrong? It kept its mouth shut.

"Your nurse said that you have some hearing aids, I see those right here. Have you always had these?"

"Yessir." Dr. Gill must be talking about its auditory receptors.

"They're very nice looking, I like the black casing, very stylish. I don't recognize the brand. Are they custom made?"

"Yessir." Every piece of Connor was custom, it's a very expensive and top-of-the-line prototype. Connor was proud of that fact.

"They look wonderful. Would it be okay if we tested your hearing later? We can't find any of your documents, and we'd like to know how well your ears work."

"Yessir." Connor was used to being tested.

"Thank you. Ah, I see our nurse has returned, thank you. Ready to change those bags, Connor?"

"Yessir." Connor was more than ready.

"Could you remove that belt for me, so I can get to your bags easier?" Dr. Gill asked as he moved over to the sink to wash his hands. _Abdominal panels,_ Connor mentally translated. "We'll go one at a time, alright?" Dr. Gill was much slower at this than Amanda or Mr. Kamski ever were, he was very methodical with it. _He must not see many androids,_ Connor reasoned, _he is not as practiced at this._

"You've got a beautiful stoma here, Connor. Your skins a bit red, but we'll get that fixed up for ya real good," Connor looked down. Its skin was quite red, and leaking a bit, but Amanda always said that was natural wear and tear for a prototype, "Do you know how long you've had these?"

"Always," Connor answered automatically.

"Well, it can't have been always. You weren't born with these, were you?" The doctor picked up a white bottle with 'Stomahesive protective powder' in blue on the label and gently rubbed the powder into Connor's skin. It had never done this step before, it must be reparative.

"No, sir," Connor wasn't born, the doctor was right. It was put together piece by piece. Connor thought back as far as it could, "They were installed on December 2nd, 2033, at 7:50 pm."

"That's some impressive memory, Connor. Do you remember why they were installed?"

"Waste collection," _obviously._

"Of course," Dr. Gill smiled, "Do you have names for them?"

"Output Duct 1 and Output Duct 2," Connor pointed to which was which.

Dr. Gill chuckled, "Very straight forward, I like your style, Connor."

"Thank you."

Dr. Gill finished up replacing both bags, collecting some liquid waste in a cup before disposing of them, and allowed Connor to put its panels back on. It didn't feel, but its systems were more refreshed and clean and Connor appreciated it very much.

"Alright, we're almost finished up for now. I'll bet you're getting hungry, huh? I had the nurse bring in some formula for you."

"Formula?"

"Ah, yes, for your G-tube," he gestured towards Connor's input duct, "What do you usually call it?"

"Input."

"Well, then, I have some input for you. I also need to draw some blood," Dr. Gill explained as he set up the syringe, "So how about you focus on pushing this through while I do that, okay? You'll feel a slight pinch, but it will be over before you know it."

"I don't have blood."

"Oh, well, we'll see about that. Would you like a stuffed animal to hold?"

"No, sir."

"Alright. Just focus on the input, don't look at what I'm doing."

Connor nodded and looked away. Just as the doctor said, it was over quickly, before it had even finished emptying the syringe.

"Alright, all done, you did very well. Better than most kids do, I'm impressed. I'll just run this to the lab real quick." But Connor wasn't listening to the doctor's praise, or watching him wrap his arm in baby blue coban, or even pushing anymore input. It was looking at the vial of blood. It didn't make sense. Connor didn't _have_ blood. It was an _android_. That must be why Dr. Gill told it to look away. He didn't want it to see him planting the tube. He's _lying_. What kind of doctor _was_ this man? Was he even a doctor?

The lieutenant returned before the 'doctor' did. Connor was not glad, per say, but it preferred that it wouldn't be alone when Gilliam came back.

"Hey, Connor, how ya feelin'?" The lieutenant asked as he pulled a folding chair up to Connor's bedside.

"I do not feel," Connor was used to this question, it knew the right answer.

"Would it be alright if I asked you some questions?"

"Of course, Lieutenant," it still didn't understand why these people kept phrasing commands as if they were asking it permission.

"Do you know your last name, Connor?"

"I do not have a last name." What a strange concept, an android having a last name like a human.

"Ok, did you have another name before they took you?"

"I do not understand the question," Connor didn't understand a lot of things happening to it today, it's starting to wonder if it's defective.

The lieutenant tried again, "Did you have a name before you were Connor?"

_Oh,_ Connor realized, _of course that's what he meant,_ "I am an RK800 model, my serial is #313 248 317."

Connor heard the lieutenant open and close his mouth, as if unsure how to continue, but Gilliam reentered the room before he could make up his mind.


	3. Questions Breed More Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not super happy with this chapter, but at this point it's either I scrap it and start from scratch, or post it, so... 
> 
> There's some gross depictions of injuries and discussions of drugs and child abuse in this chapter, heads up!

Before Hank had any time to figure out where to possibly go from being told a child's serial number, there was a soft "Knock knock," from the hallway and the rattle of curtain rings that signaled the return of the doctor. _Saved by the bell._

"Good to see you again, Hank." Dr. Gill stuck out his hand to shake Hank's.

"Yeah, you, too, Ty. Wish it were better circumstances."

"Never is."

"No, it ain't," Hank sighed as Dr. Gill brought a wheeled stool over to Connor's bedside.

Dr. Gill has been working the ER for almost as long as Hank's been on the force, so their paths often intersected. Dr. Gill was only a few years younger than Hank, yet he wore his age infinitely better. He'd managed to hold onto all of his chocolate-brown hair and he had a healthy amount of muscle underneath his teal scrubs. He had only slight crow's feet and smile lines underneath his black-rimmed, circular glasses, which somehow still worked for him, despite being largely out of fashion. A less self aware Hank might be jealous, a Hank who didn't recognize that his beer gut, his unkempt clothes, his hair he hadn't cut in years, his scraggly beard he never bothered to trim, were all side effects of him willingly losing himself to his grief. No, Hank couldn't bring himself to envy Dr. Gill for taking care of himself. The only thing Hank envied was Dr. Gill's two very-much-alive teenage daughters at home.

"Connor," Dr. Gill's voice took on a sweeter tone, "Can Hank, here, see your forehead?"

Connor, who sat up impossibly straighter at Dr. Gill's entrance, obediently pushed his hair aside, showing off a blue, circular LED imbedded in his temple. The area around it was red and raised, though Hank wasn't sure if it was infection, or if the LED continued underneath the skin. _What the hell?!_ Hank felt his poker face slip and quickly readjusted, no reason to freak the kid out.

"Thank you, Connor. I know you just fixed your buttons, but could you let Hank take a look at your tummy, too?"

From most kids, Hank might have expected a frustrated sigh, or a nervous hesitance, but Connor wasn't most kids, if that hunk of plastic in his head was anything to go by, and he went straight for his buttons without a single complaint. Underneath the dirty shirt was a wide band around Connor's middle, about the same color as Connor's skin. He undid some clasps down the left side of his stomach and the stiff fabric swung open like a door, revealing two plastic pouches on either side of his belly button, framed by a strip of elastic at the top and bottom of the belt. A tube that poked out a few inches above his belly button was tucked up under the top strip of elastic, so that the openings of all three were accessible outside of the belt.

"Do you want to tell Hank about your stomas?"

At this, Connor did hesitate, side-eyeing the doctor, but only for a moment, "This," he pointed as he went, "is my Output Duct 1, this is my Output Duct 2, and this is my Input Duct."

"Since Hank came in before we could finish checking you over, would it be okay if he stayed with us while we finished up?"

Connor gave a curt nod and tapped his little fingers against his leg.

"Thank you, Connor. Could you take off your shirt all the way?"

Connor shrugged off his shirt to reveal an odd little lump about an inch below his left collar bone and a tattoo under his right. "RK800" it read, in a large, bold print, "#313 248 317" sat in a smaller font underneath. While Hank was busy making mental notes on the tattoo, something on Connor's back drew Dr. Gill's attention.

"Connor, what's this black box back here?" Dr. Gill's eyebrows were pinched, now that he was out of Connor's line of sight, but he kept the concern from leaking into his voice.

"My charging port."

Hank bit the inside of his cheek to keep his expression neutral. On Connor's back was a rectangular piece of black plastic. It looked 2 by 3 inches, if Hank had to guess, and it came up about half an inch before curving back down into the kid's skin. Four tiny LEDs, three shining blue and one off, ran down the box, leading to a USB port. Where the box met the skin was a yellow crust, beyond that was red and irritated. In all his years on the force, Hank had never seen anything like this. His stomach rolled, but he swallowed it down. He could vomit later, when he wasn't in front of the kid.

"Hank wants to take some pictures to record these... modifications, would that be ok? Then we can get you into a clean hospital gown and take some x-rays, then I can stop bothering you for a while, how does that sound?"

For the first time since Hank had met the kid, Connor shook his head no. The way he kept glancing at Dr. Gill and leaning away from him a little bit more at a time, the way his shoulders became more and more hunched and his fingers tap-tap-tapped faster and faster, Hank got the distinct feeling Connor didn't trust the man as far as he could throw him.

"Ty, would you mind stepping out so Connor and I can have some one-on-one time?"

"Of course," Dr. Gill, getting the hint, grabbed a clip board and went on his way, probably to get some plans in motion for Connor's treatment. Hank wasn't the only one out of his depth on this case, after all.

"There, now that that fuddy-duddy is gone," kids usually laughed when Hank used stupid words, Connor didn't so much as smile, "you and I can talk," he finished lamely.

"You are the police." It was more a statement than a question, but Hank agreed anyway.

"Gilliam is not." A little less certain.

"No, he ain't."

"You will not tell him what I tell you?" Very uncertain.

Hank thought about the best way to phrase his answer, "The only things he needs to know are things that'll help him treat you, anything else will stay between us and, if you say it's okay, my report. Dr. Gill won't see any of that."

Connor considered, then nodded, "Okay, Lieutenant."

"Will you let me take pictures if I promise not to show Gill?"

"I do not think that would be wise."

"Oh?" Hank asked, not pushing, but genuinely curious.

"I do not think Amanda would allow it."

_Amanda isn't here,_ Hank wanted to say, _she can't hurt you anymore,_ "Well, we wouldn't want to upset Amanda." The camera felt heavy in Hank's pocket. "How about you tell me what you were doing in that closet?"

Connor took a second, "Do you mean The Garden?"

"Cuz of the flowers on the walls? Sure, makes sense. What were you doing in The Garden?"

"Amanda put me there." _Of course she did,_ Hank internally seethed.

"Why'd she do that?"

"She did not require my services."

"What services?" Hank could hazard a guess.

"I was designed to assist Amanda in capturing deviants."

"Deviants?"

"They think they are human, but they are not. They are machines with malfunctioning lines of codes, they must be returned to CyberLife to be analyzed and corrected." _Jesus._

"CyberLife, tell me about them."

"CyberLife is the leading manufacturer of androids. They created me."

"And you are?" _Please don't say "Android."_

"An android." _Fuck._ Hank needed to take a step back.

"How long were you in The Garden?"

"37 hours. I am sorry I cannot be-" Connor froze mid sentence, mouth still open and completely stiff apart from his rapidly blinking eyes.

"Connor?" The kid didn't respond.

"Connor!" Hank tried again, but Connor was dead to the world, completely zoned out, "Come on, kid, talk to me."

Maybe 20 seconds after it started, just as Hank was about to start shouting for Dr. Gill, Connor sprung back to life, "-more precise."

"What was that, Connor?" Hank's heart felt like it might beat out of his chest.

"What was what?" Connor suddenly looked so very tired.

"You froze up, started blinking like crazy," Hank jammed his finger into the nurse call button haphazardly, determined to keep Connor talking until help came.

"Oh. I must have glitched again," Connor told him, like it had happened many times before.

"Do you get these glitches often?"

"Yes. I am still a prototype, there are some bugs. Mr. Kamski is working to fix it."

"Kamski," _Why did that name sound familiar?_ "Who is he to you?"

"He is my creator."

"He's your- Connor?"

The fit lasted only a few seconds this time, "What's happening, kid? Connor!" but another fit came over the kid before Hank could finish his question. By the time the blinking stopped again, a nurse had found her way into the room and was checking Connor's vitals.

"Lieutenant?" Connor mumbled, "I think I am low on Thirium."

Hank's heart just about stopped, "Thirium?"

Connor nodded sleepily and pointed at the odd lump on his chest.

Dr. Gill shoved the curtain aside just as Connor's eyes rolled back into his head.

Hank left the hospital shortly after Connor started seizing. He sent Fowler a quick text and went home, they could make due without him for a few hours. The sun had started to rise by the time he let Sumo out into the back yard. The old St Bernard stamped his paws impatiently at Hank's tardiness. He went to the fridge to get a beer, then thought better of it and grabbed a six pack from the garage. The temperature dropped enough at night that they were nice and cold. On his way to his well-worn love seat, Hank turned the picture frame of Cole down. He didn't need that ghost seeing him like this. He didn't need to think about his own son, dying in a hospital bed, while trying to forget about the kid with plastic woven through out his body asking him for hard drugs between seizures. He landed bodily in the chair and drank himself to sleep to the sound of Sumo's tags hitting the metal food bowls in the kitchen.


End file.
